Fools
by Ronnie
Summary: But what an exquisite fool you are, Potter. [Slash untertones, Death Eater!Draco]


"Why don't you ever listen? Tsk tsk… You think you're so great, so wonderful, invincible. You think you're immortal, incapable of death. You're a fool, Potter." Stormy winter eyes slid to the bound raven haired man lying on the floor, tucked within himself in a fetal position, body bruised and broken. Freedom stolen, soul shattered. Yet those green eyes still shone with defiance, glaring up, meeting the icy gaze. He did not blink. Pinkish full lips stretched in a smirk as soft sounds of boots falling onto the cold stone floor were heard clearly. Draco lowered his gaze and looked at his captive, satisfaction blooming in his heart at the sight of his enemy lying on the floor at his feet, helpless, hopeless. "But what an exquisite fool you are, my dear Potter." He whispered, crouching down next to the broken body of his nemesis, one pale finger stretching out to caress the fine texture of pale skin. He relished over the wince that blinked onto Harry Potter's face and that delicious tremor that ran down his spine, chasing itself down that lithe form that had long haunted Draco's hours, waking or sleeping. Jade eyes glared at him, pierced into him, but he was oblivious to the pain they were trying to inflict upon him. He was immune to it. "Ah, Potter… how you hate me." Despite his will, an edge of sorrow crept into his words, lacing itself with them and making its home. Sorrow for what? No answer. Not yet. 

"Finally… you've come to realize that I truly am… how will you put it? Evil?" he laughed humorlessly, throwing his head back. Once his laughed died and only its echo remained, bouncing off the wall until it too diminished, he closed his eyes for the briefest moment, breathing deeply through his nose, taking in the exhilarating smell of fresh blood that stood in the dungeon air. Harry Potter was watching him. He could feel that piercing gaze on his face, ever studying, ever perceiving. "All those years…" his voice had dropped to a hush, almost fearful, whisper, and his eyes widened ever so slightly, "All those years you believed that were was some good within me. You hoped that I was not beyond redemption. After all, God does not forsake his children, and every soul can be saved by the right person..." Once again he wanted to laugh but this time he kept the laughter inside him, maintaining the cool exterior. "Did you think you were that person?" his finger found itself tracing the firm line of Harry Potter's jaw, up and down, testing the texture, the feel, the sensation of skin against skin. "Did you think _you _could save me, Potter?" he whispered, pleased to see Harry Potter's eyes widen in his bruised face, movement chipping away some of the blood that had dried onto his face. Draco's digit moved to trace the scar on Harry Potter's forehead with almost awed fascination. His eyes followed the movement of his finger, trying, to no avail, to scorch his mark onto the perfect skin. That's what it was all about, after all, wasn't it? Marking and owning. 

"My Master has no need for you anymore, Harry Potter…" he stated coolly, dully. He removed his touch from the enchanting skin and stood up again, brushing off his clothes, trying in the same time to brush off the wonderful feeling the contact had given him. No time for that. Deal with it later. "What does that tell you, Potter?" he took pleasure at the enraged expression on Harry Potter's face. The gag did not allow him to answer. He wanted to see him squirm. "Ah, I forgot. You are unable to answer me at the moment. Well, let me tell you, Potter. You always did need someone to clue you in. That means that I can do whatever it is my heart desires with you. I can torture you… I can fuck you…" he paused, gray eyes searching green, waiting as his last statement sunk in after standing in the air between them for a moment. "I can allow my men to have a go at you… or I can kill you. You see… it's pretty much up to me now. How terrible it must be for you, the great Harry Potter, to know that the lowly Draco Malfoy will decide on your fate." He released a cold bark of laughter. It pierced through the despicable air with the force of a thousand knives. Draco hated himself for the bitterness he heard in his own voice, for the betrayal that rang with every word like bells. Good God, have some control. "You're probably wondering what I have decided to do. Well, I'll let you in on a secret, Potter. I don't know. Not yet. You're just too…" beautiful, amazing, mine, "Too… pitiful… to kill just yet… And besides, I want to see you suffer just a little longer. Call me sadistic and I might like it." That old Malfoy smirk was back onto his lips, and he was sure he looked like a spitting image of his father that moment, all proud and cool and evil. But I am not my father, am I? I did better. I succeeded where he failed. I captured and held onto the wonderful and heroic Harry Potter, in more than one ways. 

"Pain suits you Potter. It really does." Draco bent down and wiped a little droplet of crimson blood from under Harry Potter's eye. He smiled and caught the black haired man's gaze. "Gryffindor red. And your eyes… Slytherin green. How poetic, don't you think?" blank stare. "Well, I guess you're not in the mood to appreciate poetics. Some other time, maybe?" Draco straightened himself and his clothes, taking too much time to straighten his shirt. "I've always been fascinated with you, Potter…" he admitted, quietly, so only the both of them heard it. Harry Potter's eyes, which were wide as it is, widened even more and a new glint appeared in them. Calculating… appreciating… always studying and dissecting. "You walk about, holding such a cool façade when I know… I know that inside you're seething and raging. Back in school, I know you wanted to pound my face in, on countless occasions. But you never did. You always remained somewhat aloof and raised above us, the lowly mortals who were forced to forever bask in your celestial light. You remained the Gryffindor hero, incarnation of peace and of justice. Oh, how they admired you, their hero. But you failed… did you not? You're here today because you failed to save them. What an incompetent hero you turned out to be." He hadn't even noticed that he had started pacing the room while giving his little speech. He stopped, dead in his tracks, and looked down at his captive who was staring at him with a strange expression on his beautiful face. What was that twinkle in his eyes? What did it mean?

"Can you still hear them, Potter? In your head?" he tilted his own head to the left and watched Harry Potter with narrowed eyes. "When you close your eyes… can you still see them dying? Can you still smell their blood on your hands? Feel that warm, sticky feeling and your food coming up to say hello?" Take a deep fucking breath and control yourself, God damn it! His eyes met Harry's and he could see a new emotion in them. Understanding. Acceptance. And… forgiveness? He was instantly filled with rage. On an impulse he spat on the floor, inches away from Harry Potter's head and then turned to walk away, towards the door and out of the room, whose walls seemed to be closing in on him. As he was going out the door, he turned his head and looked at the silent man standing against the wall. His voice was dead as he said, "Kill him," and stepped out of the room, with no intent on looking back.   


End file.
